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27.9.12

To Feel What I Felt

The other day I was reading through some old journal entries and found this excerpt. I had always journaled off and on while growing up, but this was the beginning of my commitment to writing. I haven't blogged in quite a while... so once I came upon this tid-bit, I was reminded of why I love to share my thoughts and experiences.

5-17-10
When I was growing up, we lived in a neighborhood with woods separating our block from all the others. In one of my neighbor's backyards there was a huge
gully that lined the woods. I used to go there nearly every day. Agates and wildflowers were
plentiful and free for the taking – you were limited only by the size of your
hands and pockets.Near the center of
the gully was a secluded embankment covered by blades of grass the length and
texture of girls’ hair. Willow trees surrounded it, and the sunlight coming
through their leaves created a lacy pattern of shadow that I always wished I
could pick up and lay over my head like a mantilla.Day after day, I lay on that small hill and
watched the shifting patterns of clouds and listened to the birds.I could not identify the birds themselves,
but I did recognize their calls. Sometimes I made my own sounds to call back;
whenever I did, there would follow a moment of abrupt silence during which I
assumed the birds tried to identify me, then gave up and went back to business. I found this satisfying; it made us even.

I could hear the earthbound animals rustling in the grass,
sometimes far away, sometimes thrillingly nearby.The air was warm against my skin, as
comfortable as my many-times-washed flannel nightgown. There was the rich smell
of black earth everywhere, and I pulled it far down into my lungs, wanting to
keep it by making it part of me.

Whenever I was at that place, a sense of peace came into me
like a religion.I wanted to tell
everyone what it felt like to be there; it seemed like information anyone would
want. This happened with many things I saw, or heard, or felt. I wanted to
share them. The simplest things mattered so much to me: a school of tadpoles
swimming darkly by in the creek I found in those woods, the thin wail of a baby; the
smudged pastels of a sunset; the smell of pot roast cooking in the oven to be Sunday's lunch. And the bigger things, too, of course: the mysteries and hurts, the fears and
longings, the questions about why and when and how. I had a deep need to give
voice to all of these things. Maybe because I wanted others to feel what I felt, to share in both the beauties and the devastations that life can bring.

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I miss that place. Mine and God's place. It was the place I ran to when I couldn't bear the real world - and the place I went to bask in how magnificent my Creator is!